


Steve and Sam Make a Memory

by rc1788



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - No Powers, F/F, F/M, Freebird - Freeform, Frenemies Bucky Barnes & Sam Wilson, Love Triangle, M/M, Marijuana, Pining Sam Wilson, Pining Steve, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Samsteve - Freeform, Skinny Steve, Slow Burn, Stucky - Freeform, Underage Drinking, WinterFalcon - Freeform, avengers academy inspired, hot for professor wink wonk
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-06
Updated: 2016-11-19
Packaged: 2018-08-13 10:11:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7973083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rc1788/pseuds/rc1788
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve Rogers and Sam Wilson are best friends from high school, and now they're roommates and freshmen at university. Everything's going great for them--their childhood buddy Tony Stark is the (self-proclaimed) coolest guy on campus, and they get invited to all kinds of Awesome Parties. But things start to get complicated when Sam and Steve develop a crush on the same guy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Steve Rogers, Crowned King Party Pooper

**Author's Note:**

> I've been playing too much Avengers Academy and also feeling nostalgic for "back to college" season, so I wrote this. I also needed an excuse to make a 95% Vampire Weekend-only playlist.
> 
> Anyway, I'm hoping this will be a lot of fun. Everyone's going to have a crush on everyone. (I'll have to update the relationship tags as I go, honestly).
> 
> A note on the setting: I went to college at a small, private university in the midwest, and that's where my story is set. Gotta write from experience. ;)
> 
> Okay, I'll shut up now. Enjoy!

Steve Rogers, a new college freshman and already crowned King Party Pooper, slipped out of the raging house party for the solace of the covered porch. The door slammed behind him, making him jump, and it was a poor shield against the pounding bass from inside. He took a deep breath and tried to ignore how it felt like the music was punching him in the chest. Maybe that was punishment for going to Tony Stark’s move-in weekend party.

But Sam wanted to go, and Tony swore that it would be “tame.” That was one of Tony’s usual _white lies_. There were girls dancing on tables and shots and a lot of spilled drinks and people falling over. It was not Steve’s _scene_. Even Sam was a spectator for the event, at first, until he settled himself on a couch between two girls. Steve resigned himself to ditching the party.

Outside was better--if not humid, sticky, and dark. The nearest street light was at the corner of the block. Tony lived on a street that wasn’t a street--decades ago, the neighborhood allowed weeds and grass to cover the narrow one-way street for three blocks, and now the long stretch of grass was called The Knoll. The houses were rented by the university for the students, and Tony Stark’s house, surprisingly, looked just like the rest. A bungalow with a covered porch, and a stone walkway that led into the knoll.

As the thick air soaked Steve, he stepped off the porch and realized he wasn’t alone. The glowing orange end of a lit cigarette barely lit the face of a long haired man leaning up against the oak tree in Tony’s yard. Smoke dangled in the air above him, and his eyes lifted--two piercing blue eyes that Steve recognized belonging to a brooding guy that lurked by the beer pong table an hour ago.

The man stared back at him, his eyes shining bright like a couple of stars, and Steve felt a chill race down his spine. But he didn’t look away.

“Smoke?” the guy asked.

Steve could have, _should_ have kept walking down the path to the street, where he would cross and walk three blocks back to the main campus. The dorm didn’t have air conditioning like Tony’s house did--but there wasn’t a raging party in his dorm, either. With these thoughts in mind, Steve allowed this distraction, even though he had unpacking to do, and a planner to organize.

“No, thanks. I’ve--uh--I’ve got asthma.” Steve got a couple of feet away from the guy and shrugged, realizing this was a stupid idea as the words left his mouth.

“Oh.” The man dropped the cigarette right away and crushed it with his shoe. He was wearing all black, and a hoodie, which struck Steve, as it was the middle of the midwestern summer, and the humidity was not to be taken lightly, even at night. “You leaving the party?”

“Yeah. I mean, no. I dunno. It’s getting late.”

He scoffed. The half-smile revealed some very white teeth. Steve didn’t know why he was staring at the guy, maybe because he was like a character straight out of fiction, leaning up against a tree and acting all cool. “Late, huh? Not even midnight.”

“Late for me.”

“You’re one of those morning people.”

“No, I could easily sleep ten, maybe twelve hours. I like sleep. I don’t like loud parties, or whatever that noise was.”

“Hey, man. C’mon. You don’t have too many nights left to enjoy without having to worry about classes. Live a little.”

“I can think of about a hundred different things I’d rather be doing to ‘live’ than watch a bunch of my peers try to dance and hookup.”

“Oh, yeah?” The guy pushed some of his hair behind his ear. “Like what?”

“Like, I dunno… Watching a movie. Frisbee. Reading.”

“I’m not so sure I agree with you. Personally, I like watching people at parties. I mean, you gotta fit in somehow.”

Steve looked down at his feet and chuckled. He hadn’t carried on a conversation with a complete stranger with enough finesse to keep them this interested in a while. “Well, if fitting in means having to suffer that kinda music, then… Maybe I want to stand out.”

The man smiled and Steve looked up, not entirely convinced it was a happy smile. “I’m James.”

“Steve. Steve Rogers.”

“Well, Steve Rogers, if you ever need somebody to lay low with at a place like this, just let me know.” James pushed off from the tree. He gave a two-fingered salute and headed back onto the porch and into the house, leaving Steve contemplating whether or not to follow.

It was the stack of boxes and suitcases waiting to be unpacked in the dorm that called to him, so Steve went home.

* * *

 “Oh, it’s… _nice_?”

Steve looked at Sam, who rolled his eyes. Sam threw a glare at their friend. “Tony, you are the worst liar.”

Tony stood in the doorway holding a large frozen Starbucks drink in one hand, and his phone in the other. Blue sunglasses sat on top of his head, and he looked up from his phone. “You two both know you could be living with me at my house, right?”

“We’re freshmen. We can’t live off campus,” Steve reminded him, again.

“ _Please_. There’s ways around that. And it’s not too late. Although you’ve certainly made yourselves at home.” Tony lifted his nose at the open pizza box littered with half-eaten crusts, and how Steve’s suitcase seemed to have exploded in his open closet.

“We are just fine roughin’ it here in the dorm, Tony,” Sam said. He sat cross-legged on his bed and messing around on his laptop instead of unpacking, but at least most of his things were tucked away in his closet or under his bed. Unlike Steve, who started unpacking everything at once, and had taken over his side of the small room.

“Besides,” Steve added, stacking his textbooks on his desk, “we can’t study if there’s going to be a house party every night.”

“Every _other_ night,” Tony corrected, raising a finger. He was eighteen just like him and Sam, but he was starting his senior year at university and on track to begin his Masters degree in the fall. He would have a PhD before Steve and Sam graduated, probably. But they grew up with Tony, and even if he was leagues ahead of them when it came to schoolwork, he never left them behind. He promised he’d show Sam and Steve around once they got to campus, and he made good on it.

“All right, well, if you two donuts wanna stay here and sweat without A/C until the whole place smells like the inside of a Taco Bell bag, it’s your funeral. Sam, what time’s practice tomorrow?”

“6 AM.”

“Ugh. I was gonna offer you a ride, but… I just remembered I will be busy sleeping.”

Sam got up from his bed and walked right up to Tony, snatching the frappucino out of his hand. “I can walk,” he said, taking a sip from the straw, “but thanks for the weak ass offer.”

“Any time!” Tony grabbed back the drink and smiled at the two of them. “I’m ecstatic that you two are finally here.”

Steve paused, holding an armful of crumpled up clothes gathered out of his suitcase. “Really? You missed us?”

“Yeah. Everyone here is lame. Except Rhodey.” Tony put his sunglasses on and waved. “I gotta get out of this dorm or I’m gonna start smelling like dirty socks and pizza. See ya later.”

“Tony’s surprisingly pleasant when he’s hungover,” Sam remarked.

* * *

 “Sam, you shouldn’t be this excited for a cafeteria.”

“Are you kidding me, Rogers?” Sam flashed his biggest, brightest smile at the cafeteria server and thanked her as she handed his tray over. “Do you know how expensive a meal plan is for this joint? The food’s gotta be _gourmet_.”

“ _Sam_.” Steve inspected his own tray of pasta, mixed vegetables, and garlic bread with the sneaking suspicion he would not last the semester on this. He was already picky enough without having to surgically extract each and every unwanted ingredient from his plate. Steve eyed the carrot chips in the mixed vegetables with a scrunched nose as Sam led them to a table to sit.

“Just let me be optimistic. Please?” Sam asked with a small pout.

“Yeah, okay. What d’you want to drink?”

They both looked over at the drink station in tandem. “Mountain Dew,” said Sam.

“Don’t you have to get up early tomorrow?”

“Yeah, but it’s okay. Gotta stay up for Tony’s party tonight.”

Steve snatched Sam’s cup from his tray and withheld a comment about _another party_ and _it’s a school night_ , but when his eyes met Sam’s, he could tell he was saying it without saying it. Sam leveled a knowing glare at him to shut him up, just in case. Then Steve went to the drink station.

As he filled Sam’s glass up with ice and the radioactive green soda, Steve noticed someone come up to the drink station beside him to get some milk out of the dispenser next to him.

“Hey,” said the person.

Steve _knew_ it was James before he looked over, his voice was gentle and, admittedly, pleasing. Steve offered a smile. “Hey, James.”

Now Steve really got a look at him. He was wearing a tshirt with a picture of Pink Floyd’s Dark Side of the Moon vinyl cover. His glass was under the milk dispenser and his right hand flipped the nozzle to fill it up. That was when Steve noticed that James didn’t have a left arm. His eyes jumped away, back to the smiling face of the guy he’d met last night.

“Going over to Stark’s again?” James asked. If he noticed Steve staring, he didn’t make any indication.

“Oh, yeah. Definitely.”

“Cool. See you there.” James took the glass of milk with him and went back to his table where a girl with red hair was waiting for him.

“Who’s the guy?” Sam asked when Steve returned with the drinks.

“It’s, uhm, James. I met him last night at the party.” Steve took a sip from his own glass, which happened to be Mountain Dew, because now, apparently, he was going to Tony’s party tonight and only because James asked him.

“Was that before or after you ditched?”

Steve didn’t answer and Sam chuckled. Sam had already tucked into his plate of food, leaving Steve to pick at the vegetables and the pasta before finally taking a few bites. James was sitting at a table behind Sam, and Steve periodically caught himself looking in his direction. James had pulled his long hair back (mostly) into a bun, and as Steve thinking about how nice James’s hair looked, the man in question lifted his striking blue eyes to meet Steve.

“Steve,” said Sam.

“Yeah?” Steve asked, his voice unsteady. He was flustered and had no way of hiding the flush in his cheeks.

Sam only glanced over his shoulder for half a second to determine what had spooked Steve, then gave up. “Don’t worry about the party. I’m just giving you shit. I know you like getting a good night’s rest before class.”

Steve concentrated on his plate while he mulled over his friend’s words, decided that Sam was not actually using reverse psychology on him, and smiled. “It’s okay. I want to go. Maybe I’ll make some friends.”

“Yeah,” Sam agreed, reaching across the table to Steve’s tray and stabbing each of the unwanted carrot chips with his fork. “Make friends, not enemies.”

Grinning, Steve drank from his cup of Mountain Dew and shrugged at Sam. “When have I ever done that?”

* * *

A few hours later, Steve stood at the end of a long table holding a ping pong ball and listening to a pretty girl with long hair explain the rules of beer pong.

“Okay,” Steve said. “I think I got it.”

It was him and Tony versus the long-haired girl, Wanda, and Tony’s friend Rhodey.

“You wanna go first?” Tony asked.

“Sure.” Steve looked up at Tony, then back at the cups across from him. He tossed the ping pong, careful not to step too far forward, and watched as it completely missed any of the cups and bounced off the table.

“ _Nice_ ,” Tony hissed with a laugh, nudging him.

Wanda went next, and she landed the ball in the first cup. Tony took a drank from his beer and looked over at Steve, expecting him to do the same.

Steve hesitated. Tony handed him the red cup ages ago and he’d just been carrying it around. He didn’t want to drink anything, especially not before the first night of classes. Without a word, Tony took the cup from him, drank, and handed it back to him. “All right, I’ll show you how it’s done.”

Tony threw the ball and hit Rhodey in the chest. “Oops.”

“C’mon, man.” Rhodey laughed.

James was in the basement, too, but he wasn’t playing beer pong. He stood leaning up against the wall and talking to the red headed girl that was with him at the cafeteria. Steve caught his eye and looked away quickly. Maybe this was what he meant by “fitting in.”

“Your turn again, Steve,” said Wanda. She was wearing a necklace with a large purple pendant, and her nails were painted black. Her smile put him at ease.

“Right.” _I can do this_. Steve eyed the cups and flicked his wrist, and the ping pong ball plopped into the middle cup.

“Ohhh!” Tony yelled. “Nice one!”

Wanda and Rhodey tapped their cups together and each took a drink. From the other part of the room, Steve watched James push off from the wall he’d been leaning against and come up to the table to watch. For some reason, Steve’s face started to feel warm.

Wanda and Rhodey won, of course, and Tony ended up drinking all of his own beer _and_ Steve’s before the end. Steve excused himself from the rematch and found himself standing rather dumbly by the table, unsure if he wanted to go back upstairs where the loud music was blasting to find Sam.

“Strong work there, Steve Rogers,” said James at his side.

“Yeah, thanks,” said Steve. He didn’t think he deserved the compliment, and James laughed at him.

“For being the one not drinking,” James said, the smirk still playing at his lips, “you really suck at beer pong.”

“Just trying to fit in,” Steve said, returning the smirk with one of his own. James didn’t have a cup in his hand. Steve didn’t know where the redheaded girl had gone off to, so it was just the two of them standing by the wall in the basement of Tony Stark’s house during a party.

“It’s okay. I also suck at beer pong.”

Steve allowed himself a smile, even though the remark had been self-deprecating for James. The other guy rolled his eyes at himself. 

They found an unoccupied couch on the other side of the basement and sat on it. Talked about classes. James was going to be a sophomore and he was double majoring in political science and history, even though his dad wanted him to go to med school.

“It’s not happening,” James said, rolling his eyes. “I can’t.”

“You could, if you wanted to,” Steve said.

“I _can’t_.” James shrugged his left shoulder to indicate exactly why he couldn’t. Steve’s brow furrowed.

“You could still do it,” Steve repeated, resolute. “It’s just a question of if you want to go to med school.”

“No. I guess I don’t.” James leaned up against the couch and slouched down, getting comfortable. “What about you?”

“Political science, too. I wanted to study art, but my mom said no.”

James snorted. “Oh yeah?”

“She wants me to be able to support myself. She told me to get a day job and do art on the side. I enrolled in a drawing class, just to keep up with it.”

“How many credit hours you got this semester?”

“Twenty. I’m taking an extra class, so I have room next semester for painting.”

“Good luck,” James said, raising his eyes to the ceiling. “I’ve got fifteen and it’s gonna kill me. I gotta take chemistry.”

“Really? Me too.”

“Sucks.”

“Yeah.” Steve was kind of excited for chemistry. Science was not his favorite subject, but he liked the practicality of chem lab. Even if he didn’t always get it right.

“Hey, Steve.”

“Yeah?”

“Most people call me Bucky. You can, if you want.”

“Bucky?”

“Uh-huh.” Bucky chuckled and looked down. Was he blushing? Steve couldn’t really tell in this light. “It’s a nickname. My dad’s name is James, and my middle name is Buchanan, so… they call me Bucky. It’s weird, so I don’t tell everybody I meet.”

“It’s not weird. It’s--cool.” _Not cute_.

“Sure. Hey, it’s almost midnight.”

“ _What_?” Steve looked around, panicked. He was supposed to be back at the dorm by 11, or at least, that was the rule he’d set for himself. “Oh, shit. I gotta go. I’ve got class at 8 AM. I better find Sam, he’s got practice… Bye, Bucky!”

Steve scurried up the stairs, leaving Bucky sitting on the couch and watching him leave.


	2. Makes Friends, Not Enemies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve does the opposite of the chapter title. (But he does make some friends too).

Monday. 7:35 AM. Chemistry 140. Steve got a seat up front in the huge lecture hall, and he wore his glasses because he wanted to be sure he could see the board. Echoing from the hallway came the quiet greetings of staff huddled holding folders and cups of coffee. Steve wanted to be early so he could get a good seat. He shuffled some papers, got out the textbook for the class, a notebook, and a pen. His pen was black, gel ink, click-top. A good, solid pen--for good, solid notes.

Then he waited. And waited. His rigid posture eventually relaxed into the hard chair and at 7:58, students filed in. Maybe Steve had been a bit  _ too _ early. One of the students caught his eye-- _ Bucky _ .

Bucky seemed not to notice him, walking by the front row and sitting in the very back. Steve found himself turned in his chair to look at him. Bucky looked wiped out, dark circles under his eyes, his body leaned over the desk like he could fall right back to sleep. He didn’t have a bag with him, and he didn’t get out a laptop or notebook or anything for the class. Steve frowned.  _ Was Bucky a poor student _ ?

Eventually, the professor showed up. Introductions were made, and the professor when right into teaching. There had been required readings of chapters one and two before the class. Steve shuffled through his notebook to find the notes he’d taken on the chapters. But the professor’s lecture was way over what he’d noticed from the notes.

The onslaught of new information made Steve’s head spin. He didn’t think college would be  _ this _ much more difficult than high school. After fifty minutes of talking, the professor ended class. Steve paused by his seat as he gathered up his things, and then he looked to see if Bucky was still in the back row. He snuck out a back door at the top of the lecture hall.

\---

“I’m Sharon,” the blonde said. She was tall and pretty and Steve fully expected her smile to be a practiced fake gesture, but her brown eyes were warm and squinted behind her cheeks.

“Steve Rogers,” he said, nodding. Sharon was part of a group discussion in his 19th century Europe class. Steve looked around the table and noticed he was the only guy. Wanda, from Tony’s party, was there, and so was the redhead Bucky was always talking to.

“I’m Natasha,” said the redhead. “This is Wanda.”

“We’ve met. I beat Steve at beer pong last night,” Wanda said, beaming with a smile. “So the three of us are roommates. Sorry if we’re kinda overwhelming.”

“Yeah,” said Natasha. “We already griped about this stupid reading this morning. How many pages can one person spend talking about crop rotations?”

“It wasn’t so bad,” Sharon intoned. “I thought it was accessible.”

Steve let the girls talk and busied himself with writing down in his notebook.  _ ACCESSIBLE _ .

“What did you think, Steve?” Wanda asked.

“Oh!” Steve looked up with a start. He could feel his ears turning pink. “Uhh, didn't read it.”

Natasha snorted. “Missed that email, did you, Rogers?”

“I did, actually. Really kinda freaked me out.”

“Oh, I know. If I miss an assignment I turn into a total mess,” Wanda said.  “We got you covered, Steve.” Wanda grinned and slid her notebook over to him to look at.

“The industrial revolution was based on successful agriculture in Britain,” Sharon cut in, nodding in the direction of the looming professor.

“Yeah, without a stable food source, it never would have happened,” said Natasha. “Right, Steve?”

The professor was right by their table now. Steve looked up from Wanda’s notes and said: “Yeah. Agriculture helped stabilize the population, and therefore the work force.”

Satisfied, the professor moved on to another table.

“Anyway, Steve,” said Sharon. “We were going to go to lunch after this if you want to come.”

“Sure.” Steve looked around the table at each of the girls. He'd barely ever talked to a girl, much less three of them, and now he was being asked to lunch.

Wanda leaned forward on the table and spoke in a whisper: “Qdoba run!”

\---

Steve checked his phone for his First Day of School Itinerary. Lunch with his history class group had gone well, he thought, because he got to eat exactly what he wanted (a cheese quesadilla), and he had good company. Even though Natasha, Wanda, and Sharon were roommates that seemed to have known each other for an entire century, they went out of their way to keep him in their conversation. Sharon very kindly drove him back into campus around 12:45 so Steve could make his 1:00 class. As he made his way down the sidewalk in front of the campus Starbucks, he heard a group of three guys talking.

“He needs like a peg leg, but for his arm,” the first guy snickered.

“A peg-arm.”

“I can’t tell if he’d look  _ more _ stupid with an arm than he does without one.”

Steve stopped. That was when he noticed Bucky Barnes sitting on a bench with his phone in his hand a few paces away while these guys laughed at him. Surely, he could hear.

“Hey,” Steve said, anger burning behind his eyes, “why don’t you shut the hell up?”

All three guys turned toward him, like sharks smelling blood. “ _ What _ ?” one of them asked.

“It’s mean,” Steve said, still angry, but losing traction with his words. “It’s really shitty.”

The three closed in around him, each of them at least half a foot taller than Steve. “Oh yeah? What’re you going to do about it?”

Steve clenched his fists at his sides. This would not be the first time he got himself into this kind of shit. But usually, he was in high school, and Sam was always nearby. Now Sam was in class, and Steve was good at taking punches, but not giving them. “Just stop it,” Steve growled.

One of them shoved Steve, and one behind him caught him and shoved him back. He stumbled around like rag doll getting tossed back and forth until he saw Bucky appear next to the tallest guy. Bucky yanked the first guy out of the circle, then he grabbed Steve by the back of the shirt and hauled him out of harm’s way.

“It’s shitty that you assholes think it’s cool to push some guy around for calling you out,” Bucky said over his shoulder.

“Fuck you,” one of the guys said.

“ _ Fucky _ ,” another spat.

“Fuck you, too,” Bucky growled back, continuing to drag Steve by the shirt down the sidewalk.

“Sorry,” Steve mumbled. He was still pissed and he felt like his face was on fire, and his heart threatened to leap out of his chest. He inhaled and felt a little resistance, but he refused to grab his inhaler until he got away from all of them.

“It’s okay. They’re assholes. I’m used to it.” When Bucky was sure the guys weren’t following them, he let go of Steve and kept going.

“Bucky. It’s not right,” Steve said. He brushed himself off and jogged to catch up. “We’re supposed to be adults here. And I don’t like bullies.” Steve’s head was angled down at his feet.

“Steve,” said Bucky. Steve waited, but Bucky didn’t go on.

“What? I didn’t--I’m sorry you got dragged into it.”

“ _ Man _ .” Bucky’s arm shot out and stopped Steve in his tracks. Bucky glared over at him, his eyes unreadable. “It’s my problem. Don’t stick your neck out for somebody like me.”

Steve’s brow crinkled in frustration. He felt sick. He hated that Bucky was so down on himself, hated even more that there were guys out there that messed with him. “Nobody deserves that.”

Bucky lifted his eyes to the sky and let out a sigh. “Steve. I like you. I don’t need your help, though. Got it?”

“Yeah.” No. He did not get it.

Bucky nodded at him and walked off, cutting across the mall and heading toward the library. Steve watched him climb the steps two at a time and disappear inside the building, then he told himself to go to class.

\---

Steve found himself waiting in line at the campus Starbucks at 2:30. Logic dictated he should go back to the dorm and avoid the possibility of running into Bucky or those guys again, but his midafternoon slump hit him extra hard with the stress of new classes. Once he got the biggest iced coffee imaginable, Steve planted himself at a small table and opened up his laptop.

Steve allowed himself a half hour to browse the Internet before getting to his readings. He had three new follower requests from the girls in his history class, which he accepted. That then got him browsing through each of their profiles because he figured they would do the same to him.

Wanda posted the most out of all of them. She had a lot of drawings and artwork and she took selfies wearing various outfits. Most of Natasha and Sharon’s pictures were posted by her. And Bucky was in a couple of them, too. Steve sighed and wished he wasn’t such an idiot--if Bucky hated him now, then he bet the girls would catch on to his problematic behavior sooner rather than later.

Somebody dropped a bag right next to him and made him jump. “Sam, you scared the shit out of me,” Steve said with a sigh.

Sam picked up Steve’s iced coffee and took a sip. “How’s classes?”

Steve quirked a brow up at Sam as his friend sat down across from him and returned his drink. “Oh, you know… the usual… got into a fight already.”

The statement took a full second to register across Sam’s face as his smile wilted into a stern frown. “What the hell, Steve? How many guys?”

“Three.”

“ _ Jesus _ . And here I thought you’d go at least twenty four hours without pissing somebody off.”

Steve slouched forward and let his head drop. “I know, but--”

“Who were they?” Sam asked, already doing his detective work.

“Juniors, I think. And… maybe football players?”

Sam waved his hand at Steve and crashed back against his chair. “All right. Just point ‘em out to me.”

“Sam…”

“Don’t even think about asking me to stay out of it. You can’t go to college classes with a black eye, dude.”

Steve looked up and saw over Sam’s shoulder that Bucky Barnes was waiting in line for Starbucks. The look on his face prompted Sam to turn around and see what he was looking at.

“Barnes?” he asked.

“You know him?”

“I mean, kinda. He was at Tony’s, talking to that cute girl.”

“Natasha,” Steve offered.

“That’s her name? Natasha,” Sam repeated with a small grin. “Why the look, man?”

“He… might have helped me get out of the fight.” And into it, but indirectly. That wasn’t for Steve to offer, though.

“Hey! Barnes!” Sam said, waving at Bucky. Steve wanted to melt into a puddle and slither away.

Bucky blinked and looked around, nowhere near seeing Sam or Steve.

“Barnes!” Sam stood up. Steve covered his face with his hands.

Bucky saw him, finally, and tilted his head before giving a small wave. He stepped out of line and came over to their table. Steve forced himself to look at him even though he knew his face must have been the color of a tomato.

“Well, if it isn’t Steve Rogers,” Bucky said.

Bucky’s voice was cool and he didn’t look entirely unhappy to see him. Steve took it as a small victory. He also liked how Bucky kept repeating his full name back to him, since that was how he introduced himself. “Hey, Bucky.”

Bucky turned his head to Sam and smiled faintly. “You must be Sam.”

“Yup. You go by Bucky?”

“Yeah, for the most part.”

“Cool. Steve here says you guys got into a fight earlier.” Sam was really good at cutting the bullshit, even if it was a little jarring mid-conversation.

“Rumlow and his buddies were giving me shit.” Bucky looked just as nonplussed about it as before. “Your little friend here has a big mouth.”

“Tell me about it.”

Steve tossed his hands in the air. “Am I the only one around here that stands up for  _ anything _ ? I keep getting shit for it!”

“You need to pick your battles, man,” said Sam with a laugh.

Bucky and Steve looked at each other at the same time, and Steve’s mouth dropped open. “I, uh--” Steve stammered.

Bucky had a small smile on his face. “I better go, before the line…” He jerked his thumb back in the direction of where he’d been standing in line, turned on his heels, and left.

Sam watched Bucky leave before training his eyes back on Steve. “What’s that about?”

“I might’ve… the fight… they were  _ picking on Bucky _ .”

“Oh.” Sam’s face scrunched up as the realization that Steve wasn’t the one getting bullied fully registered for him. “Okay. Shit.”

Steve drank the rest of his iced coffee, his eyes pleading with Sam to just drop it. Sam just sat down across from him and crossed his arms over his chest. He had that calculating look on his face like he was already coming up with a plan to get the football players off everybody’s backs, one punch at a time.

_ Damn it, Steve _ , he thought to himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry my update took half a century, and nothing really happens... so now I'm going to entice you with these questions:
> 
> Why do football players hate Bucky so much?  
> Does Bucky ever take notes in class?  
> Does Sam ever buy his own Starbucks or does he just drink Steve's coffee?  
> Is Wanda's Instagram profile pretentious and adorable af?  
> Where's Tony? Does he even go to class?
> 
> these questions and more will be answered in following chapters!


	3. Chemistry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam, Bucky, and Steve have some classes together, and Thor throws a party. Tony's annual labor day weekend at his parents' lakehouse is totally happening next week, and Sam gets on Rumlow's bad side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is really long and meandering and I'm sorry! But there's kissing in this one. Grade school level kissing and feelings. WHOLESOME COLLEGE PARTIES WITH ZERO ILLEGAL DRUGS.
> 
> [crawls back into my dumpster home for another month or two]

Five-thirty in the morning was not Sam Wilson’s favorite time of day.

Steve rustled in bed as Sam sat up and slapped his phone to turn off his alarm. He dared himself to snooze, even just for two minutes, but Steve was a light sleeper, and he didn’t want to wake him up again. With a sigh, Sam willed his tired legs out of bed.

He ate a banana on the way to practice. Campus stretched out before him, empty and still, only the faintest hint of light from the eastern sky from the burgeoning dawn. Sam tossed the banana peel in a trash can just before he entered the fieldhouse so he could hit the locker room.

The first string players were already in uniform and talking in the locker room as Sam went to get his gear.

“He’s a little shit that needs to be put in place,” said Brock Rumlow.

Sam lifted his eyes to the ceiling because that got his attention. Steve said he got into trouble with some guys yesterday--with football players.

“He’s a freshman twerp, he’s not worth it,” said Zemo, another one of Rumlow’s friends. Rumlow’s ego was about the size of the sun since he was a junior that just made starting quarterback.

“I can’t fucking stand the guy’s stupid ass face. He’s gonna get a beating. Wipe the smirk off his face with the ground.”

Sam slammed his locker door and looked over at Rumlow’s group. They looked back at him.

“What?” Rumlow snapped.

“You better not be talking about one of my friends,” Sam said. Threatening other football players was not new for him, it was just a fresh way to lose his scholarship and at a college level. His insides were burning and he clenched his fists. Had he not  _ just _ told Steve to pick his battles? And yet here he was, challenging three guys all on his own. Rumlow’s two friends were huge linebackers, but they didn’t scare him because they didn’t have the same predatory glint in their eyes that Rumlow had. Sam inhaled and straightened his back.

Rumlow stomped over to Sam and grabbed him by the shirt. “What did you just say?”

“I said: ‘you better not be talking about one of my friends.’ Asshole.”

Rumlow shoved Sam up against the locker, and the back of his head crashed against the metal door. “You better watch your mouth, shitstain.”

Sam squinted at Rumlow, wondering just how far this idiot was going to take it at 5:45 in the morning and with coaches nearby. He smiled and Rumlow’s pinched face got even redder.

“Or what?” asked Sam innocently.

“Or I turn your face into a bloody pulp. How’s that?”

“ _ Hey _ .”

The booming voice belonged to none other than the football team captain, Luke Cage. He was bigger than all four of them combined and his voice nearly made Sam jump out of his cleats. Rumlow let go of Sam and jumped away from him like he was on fire. “Cage,” Rumlow said, sparing Sam one last glare before summoning his two goons and leaving the locker room.

Luke Cage watched them leave, his arms folded over his stomach. He looked at Sam. “You need to watch it, freshman. You do not want to get on Rumlow’s bad side.”

“What’s his problem?” Sam knew it wasn’t his place to ask, and Luke had no reason to tell him, but he asked anyway.

“Everything, and everybody. You stay off his radar if you know what’s good for you. You hear me?”

“Loud and clear, Cage.”

_ Shit. _

\---

Practice beat the shit out of Sam. He got to be everybody’s punching bag for a solid hour and he spent the rest running drills. He almost fell asleep in the showers. Eventually, he dragged himself into his 9 AM English class. To put the icing on today’s shitty cake, Sam realized he signed up for a poetry and composition class because it was the only one that fit his schedule. Sam sat in the back and dropped his bag on the floor, about ready to fall asleep.

“Hey,” said someone beside him.

“Huh? Oh, hey,” said Sam, looking over at Bucky Barnes. The guy looked about as wiped out as Sam with heavy bags under his eyes, his long hair still looking like it had been roughed up by his pillow, and wearing some rock band tshirt Sam didn’t care to identify. “Rough night?” Sam asked with a smirk.

Bucky shrugged and slouched down in his seat like he was about to fall asleep. He gave Sam a side eye. “Shut up. You look like shit, too.”

He chose to ignore Barnes’s sniping comment back to him because Sam never looked like shit, even when he was wearing sweatpants and a tshirt, which he was. Sam leaned over and whispered so nobody could hear. “They say coffee and Advil cures any hangover, man.”

A smirk crossed the guy’s face. “I’m not hungover.”

“Suuuuure.”

Bucky shook his head and took out a notebook. The class quieted down when the professor entered. Sam’s jaw dropped--the man was young, dressed in all black, and seemed to own the room without even the effort of speaking.

“Hello, I’m Professor T’Challa.”

His thick Wakandan accent was not lost on Sam. He glanced over to see Bucky in a similar state of awe.

“This is poetry composition. The best way to write poetry is to read poetry. We’ll start by having each of you introduce yourselves and read a poem aloud for the class.”

“Oh hell no,” Bucky muttered.

A few minutes later, Bucky Barnes was standing in front of the class with his poetry book out, looking like he wanted to murder something. “I’m, uh, James Barnes. And this poem is called Ah Moon. It’s by Galway Kinnell.”

Sam sank into his seat and found the way Bucky read to be strangely enthralling. The guy didn’t act like he was into poetry at all. But his voice was smooth and soft, pronouncing each word as if for the first time. When he was done, he snapped the book shut, glanced at Professor T’Challa, and sat down.

Sam was the last one to read. He got up and stood in front of the class. He smiled, because he was good at smiling, and good at being in front of people. “Hi. Sam Wilson. I’ll be reading And it Still Comes by Thomas Lux.”

So Sam read it, probably too quickly, and when he was finished he shrugged his shoulders. “Kind of a downer,” he said, then he sat back down.

“Why’s that, Mr. Wilson?” the professor asked.

Sam tilted his head as he considered the question, though it caught him off guard. “Because it’s about death.”

Now the class turned in their seats to stare at him. Professor T’Challa smiled. “So it is.”

\---

Bucky walked with Sam out of the classroom since they were both headed to the same building for their next classes. Bucky slung his messenger bag onto his right shoulder and held onto the strap with his hand. He watched Sam effortlessly pull his textbook-laden backpack onto one shoulder, and Sam pretended not to notice Bucky’s lingering gaze.

“So you like poetry?” Sam asked with a smirk. It seemed like a good a time as any to ask.

Bucky snorted. Sam swore he saw the guy blush. “Yeah. I take it you don’t like poetry.”

“I don’t like hidden meanings. I want the facts, not a bunch of metaphors and shit.”

“Not all poetry is like that, y’know. You figured out Lux pretty quick.”

Sam chuckled and rolled his eyes. In his opinion, the poem he had to read was pretty transparent. Even the title “And it Still Comes” gave it away. But maybe nobody expected the football player to have any deep thoughts. The challenge to prove everybody wrong on that front was enough for Sam to want to do well in the class. But not enough to admit it.

“Don’t go getting ideas that it means I like poetry,” Sam scoffed. “I still don’t.” They both stopped in front of Sam’s calculus classroom, and Bucky paused. Sam glanced in either direction before laying on his next question. “Do you… write poetry?”

Bucky’s lips folded in, and he tilted his head to one side. “Maybe. Sometimes.”

“I figured, you got that emo look about you.” Sam waved a hand over Bucky as if it proved his point. “Probably got a whole book written about trees and shit.”

“Y’know what, Wilson? Fuck you.” Bucky tossed a dismissive hand at Sam and went on his way down the hall.

“Does this mean you’re not gonna help me write poems?” Sam called after him.

Bucky responded with a middle finger.

\---

“Ah, fuck.”

Steve looked over to see Bucky struggling to scoop out citric acid powder to measure on the electronic scale. Steve set down the bottle of solvent he’d been pouring into a graduated cylinder and moved down the workbench, holding onto the bottle of powder to keep Bucky from knocking it over.

“Shit. Sorry,” Bucky muttered, pouring the powder onto the scale. The scale read 0.67 grams and he swore again. They only needed 0.5 grams.

“You wanna pour the solvent instead?” Steve asked. Their experiment was a little behind everyone else’s. Most of the other students had started heating up their experiments on hot plates and they were still measuring out ingredients.

Bucky looked at him with a frown, his cheeks red with frustration and his eyes narrowed in anger. “Just give me a sec.”

“Okay. You got this.” Steve smiled at Bucky. So what if they weren’t the fastest lab team? Steve was actually enjoying himself. It was like cooking, but the ingredients were poison--maybe it was more like a Potions class out of those Harry Potter books.

“How’s it going?” their lab professor asked. She went by Professor Carter and she must have been a graduate student because she wasn’t that much older than them. She wore red lipstick and a royal blue sweater.

“Just--uhm--” Steve almost dropped the bottle of solvent but caught it quickly. Professor Carter watched him with intense brown eyes. “We’re good. Yeah, we’re good.”

Professor Carter nodded and eyed their progress one last time before moving on to the next workbench. Bucky went to look at their lab report to check on the next steps and he let out a sigh.

“Hey, do you wanna work on this post lab worksheet together after this?” he asked.

“What? Oh, yeah. Sure, that sounds good.” Steve added the ingredients he had measured out into the beaker, and started up the hot plate. He noticed Bucky liked being in charge of the lab report, so he let him direct the steps of the experiment.

Some of the groups started finishing their experiments and cleaning up. Steve and Bucky were one of the last groups to finish, but that didn’t bother Steve. He was the type of student to take his time with his work, and he was used to finishing up last most of the time. Bucky let Steve put away all the ingredients while he started cleaning up their dishware, and around 4:15 pm, they were on their way out of the chem lab.

“We can go back to my place if you want,” said Bucky.

“Okay! I’ve never been in the sophomore hall before,” Steve said. He didn’t know why he offered that tidbit of information, but maybe it was to cover up how excited he was to be hanging out with Bucky.

The other boy smirked at him. Bucky had his hair pulled back messily with a hair tie to keep it out of his face for the lab. Steve was trying really hard not to notice certain things about Bucky--like how his eyes were so striking, and how his hair looked nice like that even though it was half pulled back and half falling all over the place--but these things were difficult to do when Bucky kept appearing in his life. Steve met Bucky four days ago and he already had to ask himself if he had a crush on the guy, and the answer was shoved forcibly out of his head because he didn’t have time for crushes.

(Yes, he did.)

The sophomore hall was nothing that exciting, just a little newer and with air conditioning. The dorms were set up in quads with two bedrooms and a shared bathroom. Steve adjusted the strap on his shoulder bag and smiled at the decorations on Bucky’s door that the RA made for the whole hall.

“Nice,” Steve said with a grin, pointing at the instafilm picture of Bucky looking completely off guard, taped to a sailboat with the name JAMES written in loopy letters.

“Yeah,” Bucky snorted as he got out his keys. “I'm real photogenic.”

The room was completely dark with blackout curtains drawn shut. The only light came from the screen of a huge computer monitor that Steve almost mistook for being a TV.

“Hey Clint!” Bucky shouted.

Bucky’s roommate peeled a headphone off his ear and glanced over his shoulder at Bucky and the newcomer. “Oh hey.” Whatever was going on in the computer game behind him looked really intense--there were guys shooting at each other, explosions, and all sorts of madness.

“Hi, I’m Steve,” said Steve.

“This is Steve Rogers,” Bucky added. Apparently he would never let go how Steve introduced himself using his full name. Steve blushed.

“Cool, cool, cool,” said Bucky’s roommate before turning back to his game and ignoring them.

“Clint’s an asshole. Anyway, let me grab my chem book and we can do that post lab report.”

The two of them found a spot in the dorm common space to work on the report. There was a couch with a table, and they sat next to each other and worked on the report. Neither Bucky nor Steve really knew exactly how to do the calculations, but they muddled through it.

“Bucky! Homework before 8? You're turning into a complete dork.”

Steve dropped his pencil and looked up to see Natasha standing over them with her arms folded and a wicked smirk on her face.

“It's cuz I've been hanging out with Steve, who's a dork.”

Steve looked at Bucky, gaping with betrayal. “I am not a dork!”

Bucky leaned back in his seat with a smug grin. “Says the guy who'd rather play frisbee or read than party.”

Natasha whacked Bucky on the arm. “Be nice.”

Bucky tried to kick her in retaliation, but she was too quick. “You first!”

Natasha chuckled and leaned her arm on the back of Bucky’s chair. “Listen, dorks, do you wanna go out tonight?”

“Maybe,” said Bucky. “Depends where and who with.”

Steve watched them talk and refused to accept the invite was also open to him. It was a Thursday night! And he had class in the morning at 8 am.

“Thor and Loki’s. Wanda is coming and I've gotta get Sharon out before she shrivels up into an old maid.”

Steve frowned because he silently aligned himself with Sharon’s stance not to go out. Even without spending time going to a party, he was sure he'd have to stay up late just to get all of his homework done. Steve gathered up his notebook and calculator and started getting ready to meet up with Sam for dinner.

“Okay. I'll stop by. You coming, Steve?”

“Me? No, I--” The way Bucky looked at him, expectant and optimistic, made him think twice. “You said at 8? I'd probably be done with homework by then…”

“Tell your buddy Sam too,” Natasha told Steve. “We'll pick you up.”

\---

“Beer for Sam, and beer for Steve.”

Sam accepted the red cup from Tony and raised it to him before taking a long gulp. Sam was no connoisseur of craft beer (not yet, anyway), but this watered down swill did hardly anything for him. When he looked over at Steve, his friend was just staring over the rim of the cup.

Tony watched Steve expectantly to drink the beer, but Steve just kept holding it.

“Not a beer guy?” Tony asked. “You wanna go straight to the Jaegar shots?”

“I didn’t ask for a drink, and I don’t really want it.”

“Yeah, well, hold onto it, or people will be handing you drinks all night,” Tony said, nudging him.

The party was not at Tony’s house tonight. The host was an international student named Thor who Tony loved so much that he said Norway was never getting him back. Sam could appreciate the slightly more chill vibe in this party--a few less dancing drunk people and more sitting around and talking.

“Is that pot?” Steve asked, nodding toward a group of people smoking in the living room.

Sam and Tony looked at each other. It was bad enough that Steve wanted to leave the part at 10 (Sam argued for 11 and lost, but the joke was on Steve because it was 9:45 and they just walked in the door thanks to Tony stalling at his house to do his hair).

“No?” Sam said, even though it was definitely pot.

Steve sighed. He looked down at his cup again and hesitantly brought it to his lips, took a sip.

“By the way… next week is Labor Day weekend,” Tony said, lifting his eyebrows at them. “You know what that means.”

“What?” Steve asked.

“Weekend at my parents’ lake house,  _ duh _ . Your lame asses have only been once.”

Sam blinked and busied himself with taking another drink. His parents only let him go last year because it was his senior year--Steve’s mom, too, had been hesitant about letting Steve go, but when she found out Sam was going, she gave in. It wasn’t the drinking or the boating that Sam remembered best about that weekend.

Last year at Tony’s lakehouse, Sam kissed Steve on the lake shore, at sunset, on Saturday night, and the moon had been a waxing crescent like a big curved spike in the sky. Sam’s heart ached just thinking about it.

Sam felt Steve’s eyes still on him and he finally willed himself to look back at him. Steve met his gaze and looked away, his cheeks red. Every look since that moment on the lakeshore had Sam’s mind riddled with all sorts of thoughts and questions. Did Steve think about that kiss as much as Sam did, replaying the moment over and over again? They spoke of it only once after.  _ Weird fluke _ , they said, and they loved each other too much to turn what they had into something romantic. Too many of their friends dated, broke up, and weren’t friends anymore.

But that didn’t stop Sam from remembering what Steve looked like when they kissed, the way his brow crinkled, the earnest touch of his lips. The way Steve’s hair fell in his face and his hands were too occupied on Sam’s waist to brush his hair away-- _ Shit _ .

“We’ll be there,” he heard Steve say.

Sam jerked his thoughts back to the present and stuffed away all of his feelings about Steve into that dark corner of his mind he never went to. “I got a home game that Saturday, so I’ll have to come up later.”

“Yaaaay! Okay, I’ll text you all the details later. I’m so glad you guys are in.” Tony patted each of them on the shoulder and then he turned and disappeared into the party.

“Sam,” said Steve.

“What?”

Steve worked over what he wanted to say by chewing on his lower lip. Then he shook his head so roughly that his hair fell in his face. “Nevermind.”

\---

Wanda thought it would be funny to play spin the bottle, so she rounded up any willing (or in Steve’s case, unwilling) participants for the game. Steve watched as Sam managed to duck out of the fray and to the porch, and even as Steve started after him, Tony grabbed his arm and dragged him into the circle for the game. Steve took another long gulp of his beer, hoping to feel a little less like he was about to have a panic attack. He looked around the circle--Wanda, Sharon, and Natasha all sat next to each other, and beside them was Thor, the party host. A guy with long black hair and a lip piercing sat next to Thor, and then came Rhodey and an upperclassman Steve hadn’t met yet.

Tony noticed where Steve was looking and leaned over. “That’s Thor’s brother Loki, and next to Rhodey is Mercedes Knight.”

“Oh, okay.” Steve committed the names and faces to memory. Wanda jumped up and held an empty beer bottle above her head like it was a trophy. Her long hair was braided over one shoulder and she wore a short dress with a long red cardigan over it. Steve scrunched up his nose at her when she looked at him and winked.

“Let’s start!” she announced. “I’ll go first.” Wanda knelt down and spun the bottle. The rest of the circle only half paid attention, as Thor was describing how he slid down every banister in Jarod Hall without falling.

The bottle landed on Natasha.

Steve looked over at Tony, who was also not paying attention, and saying something to Rhodey about having to grade assignments and how awful it was. So Steve watched as Wanda sat down next to Natasha and kissed her right on the mouth. Steve figured for a game like this, any kissing that went on would be a quick peck and that would be it, but--

Natasha definitely had her tongue in Wanda’s mouth. Steve’s face went bright red. He couldn’t look away. To break his gaze, he finished off the rest of his beer.

Sharon giggled so hard she almost doubled over, then she finally tapped Wanda on the shoulder long enough for them to break up. Maybe only  two other people besides Sharon and Steve noticed the mini makeout session, and Loki stepped up to spin the bottle next. It landed on Thor.

“Brother!” Thor shouted with his arms wide open, his eyebrows wiggling suggestively.

Loki punched Thor in the gut and sat back down, and everybody laughed, including Thor.

“Your turn, Steve-O!”

Steve looked from Tony to the bottle in the middle of the circle and inhaled. Apparently there was no rhyme or reason to whose turn it was. There were worse situations to be in at a party, he supposed. Nobody was telling him to snort cocaine off a dirty bathroom counter. All he had to do was spin the bottle.

Tony clapped Steve on the back really hard as Steve reached out and spun the bottle. “Ow, dude,” Steve hissed at him. The bottle spun and spun. Steve was sure that time slowed as it lost momentum and stopped. The bottle aimed straight between him and Tony. Each pair of eyes in the group followed the bottle’s trajectory to the door between the living room and the kitchen where Bucky stood with an empty bottle of Southern Comfort.

“Is there any… more…” Bucky’s question trailed off as he stared down a group of people who were also staring at him. The way his face changed from “confused” to “scared” was comical.

“Bucky’s not playing, so it doesn’t count,” Steve insisted.

“If you’re at the party, you’re playing,” Natasha countered. Everybody looked at Wanda since she’s the one that started the game.

“Well--uhm--” Wanda squinted as she considered, her own lips stained with Natasha’s dark red lipstick, and before she came to a conclusion Bucky walked over to where Steve sat on the floor and knelt down.

Time froze. Bucky looked into Steve’s face with those clear blue eyes that sent a shiver down Steve’s spine. Steve smelled whiskey on his breath. He noticed the scruff Bucky let grow on his face for half a second before feeling it on his chin as Bucky kissed him. They kissed for an instant, not even a second, but Steve felt his eyelids glue shut and he wished it would last forever. The sensation of Bucky's lips burned on Steve's mouth long after Bucky pulled away and stood up. His voice seemed distant, in another galaxy altogether, as he asked again about where he could find more alcohol, and then he disappeared back into the kitchen.

“Steve.”

Steve thought about what Bucky’s hair must’ve felt like--

“Steve!”

Steve looked at Tony. “Huh?”

Apparently, Tony spun the bottle and it landed on Steve.

“Pucker up!” Tony took Steve in his arms and dipped him, planting a sloppy kiss on his mouth. Everyone cheered and Tony sat back up with an arm still slung around Steve.

“Very dramatic, Stark,” Rhodey said, rolling his eyes.

The rest of the game escalated in a similar manner, with half of the participants distracted by side conversations and making more drinks, all the while Steve sitting like a statue completely lost in his thoughts. Bucky kissed him.  _ Bucky kissed him _ . But it was part of a game. Bucky kissed him so casually, like he was just saying  _ hi _ or passing him a pencil. For Steve, the kiss was nothing short of a life-altering experience, like he’d been shot on a rocket into space.

And Tony, who he’d known his whole life, also kissed him, but it wasn’t the  _ same _ . Steve thought about these things while he stared at Sharon and Rhodey basically making out in front of everybody. Steve blinked. Wait.

“All right, all right, all right!” said Tony, climbing over Loki to try and separate them.

“Quit it!” Loki hissed, shoving Tony.

Steve got up and shuffled into the kitchen. He should be concerning himself with what time it was, but instead he poured himself another “light beer” and wandered out the back door to the porch.

Sam sat with Bucky and they were sharing a cigarette. Steve almost turned around and went back inside.

“Stevie,” said Sam, pushing himself up from his chair. “You wanna head out?”

“Uh, yeah. Sure.” Steve gulped down the rest of his beer to keep from looking at Bucky.

“Can I walk with you guys?” Bucky asked.

“Sure,” said Sam. “Let’s go.”

\---

Sam’s head buzzed as he walked with Steve and Bucky down the block. Most of the other houses on the street were dark, until they started heading north toward the main campus and passed one of the frat houses. Steve and Bucky walked on either side of him, Bucky still nursing the end of a cigarette, and Steve walking not so steadily with his hands in his pockets. Bucky told Sam about kissing Steve when he went in to get Sam another drink, and Sam couldn’t shake the thought out of his head. It was just a kiss from a silly game, and Bucky didn’t act like it meant anything to him, except that Steve was Sam’s friend and roommate and Bucky thought it was a funny story.

“What time is it?” Bucky asked suddenly.

“Almost midnight,” Steve lamented.

Under the street light at the end of the block, Sam caught sight of three guys stumbling and swearing at each other. Sam stopped and his arm shot out in front of Steve. “Let’s go another way.”

“Huh?” Bucky squinted. “Oh, it’s Rumlow.”

For being a bunch of stumbling idiots, those guys moved fast, and before Sam could redirect Steve and Bucky into a new direction, Rumlow and his two goons were right in front of them.

“Well, if it isn’t Fucky and his frosh friends!” Zemo said.

“Is that supposed to be an insult?” Steve asked. Sam wanted to hit him before the other three did. Steve just couldn’t keep his mouth shut.

“What did you say?” Rumlow spat.

“I thought someone with a college education could do better than ‘Fucky and his frosh friends’--”

Rumlow grabbed Steve by the front of the shirt and nearly lifted him off the ground. Sam lunged and shoved Rumlow in the chest. “Don’t touch him!”

“Aw, did I touch your precious little man?”

“C’mon, man,” Sam said, throwing his hands in the air. “Why are you fucking with us?”

Rumlow tossed Steve back and got right up in Sam’s face. The man’s eyes were hazy and angry and Sam knew there’d be no reasoning with him if it went any further. He was about to tell Steve and Bucky to run when Rumlow pointed at Bucky and said: “Ask  _ him _ .”

Rumlow checked Sam with his shoulder and walked by, his two friends at his side, and they continued on their way down the street. Sam looked at Bucky with a knitted brow.

“What the fuck did you do to Rumlow?” Sam snapped. He realized his harsh tone too late. Bucky looked terrified.

“I don’t wanna talk about it,” Bucky said.

Steve smoothed down his shirt and looked between both of them. “Sorry.”

“Stop apologizing!” Bucky and Sam said in unison.


End file.
